


rooted

by manhattan



Category: Pocket Monsters: Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire | Pokemon Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire Versions, Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Female Friendship, Gen, Peripheral Wallace/Winona, Secret Crush, Slice of Life, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattan/pseuds/manhattan
Summary: She’d been fifteen when she had the magazine framed.Winona’s smile was radiant, gleaming through the glass when Flannery shifted the frame in her hands.
Relationships: Asuna | Flannery & Nagi | Winona, Asuna | Flannery/Nagi | Winona
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3
Collections: 2020 Pokémon Holiday Exchange





	rooted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Betula_mimosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betula_mimosa/gifts).



> written for pokémon holiday exchange 2020! i’ve never written for this pairing before, but i love all of the rse/oras characters very much, so i hope this came out alright. the thought of a first crush on someone older blooming into something more real and then, having to let go and move on— i thought it really fit the prompt and the characters. happy holidays!

She’d been fifteen when she had the magazine framed. The front page had creased and bent, just so at the corner, and Flannery had had to do it over, smoothing past the wrinkle with a careful thumb. No scar; if there had been, she would’ve run to the newsstand and bought another copy.

Winona’s smile was radiant, gleaming through the glass when Flannery shifted the frame in her hands. The newest female gym leader, a graceful and stylish young woman from Fortree, had been photographed by four different magazines, one of which the serious and long-running _Championship News_ , which had portrayed her with a dramatic light and a dark backdrop, from afar. Her altaria had been perched behind her, its cloud thickly white and loose like the ones around winter mountains.

Flannery’s grandfather had bought the _‘News_ , as he did every month, and had slotted it neatly in their living room shelf after reading it from cover to cover. And Flannery had bought the lighter, more childish _PokéGirls_ , which she hadn’t done since she was thirteen. Because where the _‘News_ had a stark seriousness, _PokéGirls_ had Winona’s serene expression filling out the cover, an extreme close-up which bared those soft angles beneath the colorful letters, and the reader could—if they were inclined to it—the reader could notice that Winona was wearing the lightest shade of lavender eye-shadow, which matched so prettily with her eyes.

So she’d framed it. She’d placed it near her poster of Glacia, autographed as a kindness to her grandfather, which read, _much love to Flannery, from Glacia_. That one wasn’t framed, just tacked onto with scotch tape that would leave there a straight line of brighter paint when she finally moved out and brought all of her childhood junk along.

How would Winona sign it, one day? _Much love,_ Flannery thought, feeling like the air was much too warm, _much love, Winona_.

She’d been eighteen when she had the magazine autographed, soon after her own _PokéGirls_ cover, and wasn’t that weird to think about? But Winona’s wrist twisted as she wrote, a flowery gesture that somehow didn’t translate into the practiced looseness of her signature, and the air was much too warm, too warm, not enough.

_Thank you for your support_ , she wrote, with that same old smile reflecting back at her from the cover. Very little had changed in her over the years; in her face, in the way she presented herself. It would’ve been odd for her to write anything else, Flannery realized, but could not help but to feel disappointed.

“You’ll have to autograph mine as well,” Winona said, as their fingers touched under the magazine, and who knew such a simple trade could feel so meaningful? Flannery nearly dropped it when Winona withdrew her hand, capping her pen and nodding to herself. “It’s only fair.”

“Oh,” Flannery said, all caught up, and the air was warmer still, rising up until she was alone at last, and the conversation was nothing but a memory.

But Winona kept her promise. The following meeting, while the other gym leaders chattered about their lives, their wins and losses, Winona withdrew a rolled magazine from her purse and had Flannery sign it.

“W-What should I write?” Flannery asked, the tip of the felt pen trembling as it hovered. She realized, mouth dry, that she had never given an autograph before. Her position was too new, and the few challengers she’d already had were mostly interested in her badge, not a worthless memento.

“Whatever you’d like,” Winona replied, looking as though they had all the time in the world for Flannery’s inspiration to strike.

It came like a gong, almost echoing, and Flannery was grinning as she wrote. _Much love_ , she thought, later, wondering if she’d been too bold, if she’d been too childish. _Much love, Flannery_ , and that had been the most innocent and well-meaning of truths.

Winona’s smile was practiced, polite in its shape but not devoid of its satisfied meaning, and that had been enough.

—

The entry hall of the League building was growing emptier as the sky reddened, lazily expecting the night. The top of its tall, modern windows already showed that familiar darkening blue hue, and Flannery wondered if she’d have the time to hit the springs before heading home.

Her torkoal’s shell could use a brush, though, and spring etiquette dictated that the public baths were people-only. She could enjoy the waters with her pokémon in a private room, but reserving a bath was probably impossible today, as the hour had grown late without Flannery noticing. Maybe tomorrow, if she could wake up before lunch hour? 

_Uuugh,_ she thought, feeling tired and drowsy and wanting nothing more than to skip the next Leaders’ meeting. Most of the other leaders had already gone home; some had stayed behind to train. Flannery’s numel had been trounced by Norman’s slaking, and all her shouting and effort had left her drained and without much else to show.

Still, after all that, she had stayed to watch Winona and Brawly. He’d been a good sport, only smiling sheepishly when he lost, three fighters lost to Winona’s altaria. And Winona had been beautiful, commanding her pokémon with ballerina gestures and decisive strategies that struck hard from the beginning.

Now, still glowing with the battle’s adrenaline, Winona was standing by the counter, talking in hushed tones with Wallace, each of them waiting for their rides to be brought out by the nurse. Flannery’s grandfather’s charizard was waiting for her to pick it up, as well, so she kicked off her legs and rose from the cushy chair.

“—it’s fine,” Winona was saying, staring out the closest window. That red sky brought a warm color to her face, a warm glint to her eyes. “It’s no bother.”

“I can call a cab, you know,” Wallace replied, aiming for seriousness but unable to strike down the pleased smile on his face. “I know how you get when there are - delays.”

“Only when you cause them.” Winona’s tone was calm, as always, but there was a cool edge to it Flannery had never heard before.

And now, much too late, she realized she was intruding into her seniors’ discussion, but it was too late to turn back without looking like a weirdo, and, anyway, Wallace was already grinning at her and waving. The pit of her stomach went very light when Winona turned to look over her shoulder with a smile, and her hair cascaded over her shoulder.

“Flannery! I see you’re as diligent as your grandfather was,” he said, in greeting, and motioned her closer. “Are you working late?”

There was a lavender strand there, caught between the shoulder folds of Winona’s iconic flying jacket, and Flannery had to pinch her fingers together to avoid—to avoid _what_ —

“I, um, not really,” she confessed, feeling guilty of something far more serious than her lack of extra hours. She pressed her hands against her back pockets, scratching at the seams. “Norman invited me to train with him, actually. I was just chil—uh, taking a breather, before going home.”

“Ah, yes, I heard you did quite well against Norman.” Winona asked, still smiling gently. 

There was no trace of that winter irritation on her face, as it had been in her voice. And the compliment, though unexpected, felt warm and gooey like melted chocolate. Flannery was _starving._

“Will you need a ride home?”

Flannery’s heart picked up speed. And then it sputtered to a stop, once she remembered why she had approached the nurses’ counter in the first place.

“Oh, thanks, but—” she sounded crestfallen even to herself, and wasn’t that embarrassing, wasn’t it? Could they hear it too? Oh, she hoped not, “—my gramps, he, uh, he lent me a flier. I’ll be home in no time!” she added, lifting her arm in victory like she’d won a hard battle. And with that force came relief, as both her seniors chuckled sensibly.

“Guess I’m your only stop,” Wallace said to Winona, glancing over at the status flat-screens hanging on the wall.

“I suppose so,” she replied, just as the nurse on duty elbowed open the door and waltzed in with the pokéball tray.

The two seniors very intently avoided each other’s eyes, greeting the nurse instead.

Flannery once again felt like she was interrupting something, and wanted nothing more than to steal her pokéball from the tray, release Gramps’s charizard and take off. She’d never been good with arguments— not serious ones, anyway, though she was extremely well-versed at arguing her grandfather into whipping up his famous pancakes on Sunday mornings— and being in the periphery of one which she was not privy to was uncomfortable.

Later, cozied up in her flying jacket and scarf, huddling closer to the neck of the charizard, Flannery finally released the acrid breath that had clogged up her throat.

Hoenn, beneath, was a blanket of dark-brown hills and black sea. The sun had nearly vanished in the horizon, all but a red arc of light which twisted and turned pink against the thin clouds over Mt. Pyre, and the waves circling around it. The air there might’ve been crisp, but here in the sky it was biting, even for Hoenn’s warm climate, and so Flannery only huddled and waited, rising and falling along with the charizard’s wings.

_I know how you get_ , Wallace had said.

Did he really? … How did she get? Did she blush in her anger? Did she roll her eyes in impatience? Did she frown, like she did when she was backed into a corner in the middle of a good battle?

On the job, Winona was never anything other than calm and collected. And Flannery respected that so much, that firm control of her emotions, the gentleness with which she always spoke to her juniors. She was so kind, yet so out-of-reach.

_I know how you get_ , Wallace had said, so simply, so truly, and Winona’s voice had turned cooler in reply, bringing out goosebumps all over Flannery’s arms— even now, as she thought of it, cozy and bundled against the charizard’s warm scales— even now, she felt like bubble wrap under a thumb.

How did Winona get, in private, behind the curtain she so readily dropped in front of an audience? Flannery didn’t know. The realization of it nearly hurt: _she didn’t know_. And, oh. She wanted to.

Knowing she wanted, it burned against her face, her neck, the pit of her stomach. She went to bed with it, and it stayed like a bad guest, even the next day, and the next, and—and wasn’t that something?

—

Roxanne was fanning herself as primly as she could, but even Fortree’s northern breezes—usually so soothing—had been overtaken by the greedy heat of summer. Flannery huffed her hair out of her face before cringing at the air’s heat, and fell back on her butt.

It smelled of pine, thickly, and she would probably have resin and pinpricks digging into the palms of her hands once she stood. Lavaridge’s fields were less green, more flattened dust and ankle-twisting rock, and she hadn’t yet seen enough of the world to really feel its differences. Now she rubbed her hands together and marveled at the sticky amber while it was still a novelty as opposed to a hindrance.

Before them, Winona was still battling. Roxanne had been the one closest to defeating her, nearly burying that devilishly clever altaria inside an avalanche; Flannery had floundered and panicked, balancing feelings she didn’t care to face with her still-there beginner's nerve, and her numel had folded like wet paper under the pelipper’s water attacks.

“It’s really different, going against a senior like that,” Roxanne was saying, more to herself than to Flannery. Flannery got the impression that, if there were pen and paper available, Roxanne would already be in the middle of an essay.

“They control the field much better than we do,” Flannery agreed, ashamed of how sullen she sounded, and reached for the water bottles one of Winona’s trainers had left out for them. They’d lost their refrigerated bite since then, but hadn’t yet grown warm.

Winona’s face shined in the summer sun. Drops of sweat rolled down the side of her face, then her jaw, neck, a rare sight of a collarbone, unburdened by her discarded flying jacket, and Flannery’s face was burning, and where was her sunscreen, anyway?

“It’ll be different next time, of course,” said Roxanne, assessing Winona’s current opponent, one of her own gym trainers who had eagerly volunteered after Flannery had lost. “Winona is not extending an invitation to us our of simple courtesy. We have a certain image to uphold,” she went on, focusing, even forgetting to fan herself, “and I’m certain someone as serious as Winona would like to be certain we are up to the task.”

When Flannery’s ‘nav had buzzed its incoming call, and those pixel-perfect letters had shaped Winona’s name, she had almost known what it was to fly, with the way her heart pushed out of her and attempted to make its way into the sky.

“Winona! Oh, um, hi,” she’d managed, breathless after nearly pressing every other button in her surprise, and Winona had been smiling once the screen stabilized, and Flannery, well, she’d hoped, for a moment.

“Yeah,” Flannery muttered, staring. The resin in her hands had crept to the folds of her fingers, and it was hard work to keep them apart.

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Roxanne said, lowering her voice. She had mistaken Flannery’s tone for something else, apparently self-consciousness over her loss. “She’s always looking out for her juniors, and that’s what we are, still.”

“Right,” Flannery said, and forced her volatile heart to pump the way it always had, pushing energy into every movement of her body. Despite the heat and the resin, Flannery jumped to her feet and stretched. “Right!”

Roxanne went back to fanning herself and thinking of future strategies, pleased to witness Flannery falling back into her usual personality, and Flannery tightened the muscles in her arms, almost as if trying to reach for the top of the whispering trees around them. 

When the breeze rolled by, the leaves allowed a small hint of late-blue, early-pink sky. The sun would set soon. She released her hold on her body and sighed, nearly yawned. Her arms went loose and pliable as she shook her hands.

She looked again, despite herself.

Winona’s hair was damp, curling at the front of her ears. That pale color looked white in the shade, luminous like a cloud, or a sliver of the moon, and Flannery had always been more familiar with the ground, its heat, its familiar weight. What did she know of the sky, anyway? How did she dare to dream of it when she knew so little?

“Good match,” Winona would say later, when the three of them bid their goodbyes at the flying station.

Roxanne went on ahead, always adhering to library closing schedules and commenting on wide-eyed kid volunteers who barely dared to grab a book if she were not there to egg them on. Flannery took her time, aching sweetly inside as the stablemen went out to look for another flier.

_Good match._ Such a lie, almost insulting in its kindness, but it meant Winona was sympathizing, and Flannery would take what she could get. It _was_ nice to be coddled, sometimes.

“Thank you,” Flannery said, and even meant it. Her voice barely held on to its baseline, close to trembling off into a whisper. She cleared her throat. “The next one will be better. I’ll - I’ll keep doing my best!”

Her senior’s smile was a worn-out thing, but so lovely to see. The battles had tired her more than she likely cared to show, and Flannery looked away to give her privacy before thinking it was probably more rude to look away.

“You know, the - I’m probably going to hit the springs when I get home,” Flannery said, watching the stablemen harnessing an altaria—mayhaps a relative of Winona’s own—knowing that if she did not seize the moment, it would not let itself be caught. “Have you ever been? To the springs, I mean.”

Winona’s smile shrunk, just barely enough for it to be noticeable, and she sighed. A softer breeze than any of the ones Flannery had noticed today. Winona’s face turned in the direction of the holstering station, her eyes caught in the decorative wooden saddles on the wall. For a moment, she was far away. Or had she always been?

“I’m sorry, Flannery,” she said, and now their gazes met again, and Winona’s was kind, but unyielding, “I’ll be meeting someone after I close the gym. Perhaps another time, yes? It’s been much too long since I last visited the hot springs.”

There was no deception in those words. Still, there was _something_. That same something Flannery had felt back at the League’s pretty foyer, all that cool marble and square shapes culminating in an uncomfortable truth.

_I know how you get._

Flannery’s smile came easy, elbowing its way through her disappointment, and their goodbyes were pleasant and polite like their expressions, as the stablewoman at the counter helped Flannery get on her flier. Belts latched around her thighs and waist, and the altaria growled melodically, beautifully. 

It was done; she had tried. No one, not even herself, could blame her for giving up.

Flannery looked over her shoulder before the altaria began to hover, and waved. Winona’s hand lifted in return, and stayed there until Flannery was too high up to see it lower.

Later, melting in sulphurous, submerged exhaustion, Flannery watched the golden resin melt from her hands and disappear, leaving no trace it had ever been there. Not even an amber crumb.

For some reason—not one that she cared to make known, not even to herself, for as it had been soft and kind and warm, now it was not; now it was only mortifying, and galling, to think that she had _wanted_ such a thing, how had she dared— for some reason, it made her want to cry.

Flannery took an itching, hot breath, full of vapor and decisions, and dove into the water.

—

The summer heat faded into a more temperate warmth, and Flannery’s gym saw more trainers with each passing day. It was good, to keep busy, even as her grandfather sent letters and postcards from each place he visited in Kanto, even as Roxanne called every other week to schedule training matches between the juniors, even as Winona—

Even as Winona called the other weeks to schedule matches between those available, regardless of status. Flannery’s heart leapt every time, but nowadays she had learned to settle it, and her voice was clear when she answered the ‘nav.

“At last someone answers,” Winona said, smiling that pretty smile. 

“Hi!” Flannery replied, grinning back. “What’s up?”

“I’d like to invite you to our usual bout, but it seems like you’re the only one available. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

As always, she never pressed. Flannery thought about taking the easy way out; to decline, to mention a task which needed doing around the gym, anything but meeting Winona alone, without distractions.

But that wasn’t her, in the end. Flannery could be afraid, sometimes—of losing an important battle, of missing one of Gramps’s parcels when the mailwoman came, of falling asleep in the baths and being found by one of the attendants in the middle of the night—but she was no coward.

“I’ll be there,” Flannery promised, even as her lungs seemingly filled up with a spring breeze. 

Winona did not mask her surprise at Flannery’s reply, but then shifted it for an abashed smile, an apology written on the line of her mouth.

“Very well,” Winona said, “same time, same place.”

And it was at that same time, same place that Flannery met her. The clearing behind Fortree’s gym was looking like a golden rainbow of warm tones—brown, russet, honey, yellow, tangerine, sunset-colored leaves covered the dirt-packed grounds like a colorful carpet.

Two old ladies waved from the windows of their sky-high houses, perched like swellow on their nests, and Flannery waved back automatically with a large grin. Winona did the same, though not as enthusiastically as Flannery, and they each took a side on the grounds.

Flannery’s nerve faltered, then steeled, and she took a steadying breath. 

“Ready?” Winona said, looking serious as always. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Flannery said, frowning, and their hands flashed red with the release of their pokémon.

The matches had been previously agreed on: one-on-one, Winona’s altaria versus her torkoal, as Winona apparently did not want to fall back on her water-based pelipper. Flannery was glad, even though she wanted to win against that pokémon too. One thing at a time, she supposed; for now, Winona’s winged champion was enough of a challenge on its own.

Her torkoal lagged behind the dragon’s speed, even paralyzed as it was, but its slow aim had always been true, and its hardy body could take out what the altaria dished out. At least for now, while the curse hardened its skin and shell, but another earthquake would probably turn the tables and end the battle.

Flannery closed her fist, wishing for a well-aimed fire attack, and Winona was shouting something too, looking, for once, like she had nothing to conceal, her mouth open and her brow furrowed, that glint in her eyes made up of adrenaline and strategy.

“Altaria,” Winona called out, “let’s finish this!”

“Torkoal,” Flannery shouted, barely realizing it, “let’s heat it up—”

The air burst around the altaria, so hot that the air singed the lowest leaves above the grounds, and the altaria’s fluffy cloud drooped, then fell, and the familiar red light of a pokéball caught it before it hit the ground: it was over. It didn’t seem possible, but it was over. Flannery had won, and Winona was smiling, a genuine grin which filled up Flannery with a warm feeling.

“Well,” Winona chuckled, pushing her hair back and breathing a content sigh, “how about a drink to celebrate?”

Flannery snorted under her breath, still shaky with the glee of a hard-earned victory, but she found that she was parched, and wanted nothing more than to sit down and share a congratulatory drink with her senior.

Fortree swung in the breeze above them, all of it like a trickling green brook, a shushing sound accompanied by the tweets of birds and their mates, or children. The two of them were quiet through it all, enjoying a pensive sort of silence that so often accompanied the aftermath of a good battle, and only broke that void to thank the trainer who brought them out ice-cold lemonade cans and a plate of lava cookies.

“Be honest,” Flannery said, eventually, setting down her lemonade, both bitter and sweet like her mood, “did you let me win?”

Winona laughed—throwing her head back just so, raising her face to the freckled light of the trees above—laughed, beautifully, as Flannery had never seen her do before. Battling her before had felt like peeking under the curtain’s heavy fabric, but now it was Winona who opened it, revealing the light and the art within.

Her face had gone flush with her mirth, as she set her lemonade can beside her. Flannery’s face prickled with heat at the sight.

“I would never,” Winona said, and laughed once more, under her breath. “My pride wouldn’t allow it, Flannery, nor would I ever endeavor to mislead you.”

Flannery looked away towards the battlegrounds. The tapestry of orange and yellow had been swept haphazardly beneath the trees, and now it surrounded the two of them and the brown, thick roots they were sitting on.

“Huh,” Flannery said, and averted her gaze to the nearest pile of leaves.

“You did well, Flannery,” Winona said, and her gentle hand fell atop hers. “It’s like they say,” and here Flannery turned, drinking her in with wide eyes, “you win some, you lose some.”

Now it was Flannery’s turn to laugh, first in her throat, then out of it, and the two of them were laughing like schoolgirls, forgetting themselves. Winona’s steady hand was wind-chapped, though her nails were manicured, and it was unexpected that it stayed so long. But it was pleasant, all the same, the friendship of it, its strength. Very much like the trees around them: grounded, rooted. Something to lean on, or build upon.

“Yeah,” Flannery said, and grinned. “As long as you win the ones that matter, I guess it’s fine!”

And it was. Chest full of autumn air and warmth, Flannery leaned back onto the tree, letting go of Winona’s hand after a moment. She glanced up at the sky—through the leaves, the wooden houses, the dissipating clouds against the blue—and found that it seemed closer than ever before.

She could have reached out, but she had already said her goodbyes. She _could_ have reached out, but she found that she was perfectly content to remain where she was, here in the soft, warm earth, where the air was only ever a little bit cool, where she had learned to do her best, and sometimes dreams were only dreams, in the end. Flannery could not have asked for more, so she didn’t.

They sat until the air cooled and the darkness crept in, slowly at first, then all at once. Winona’s smile was genuine, a small curve which tipped a little more to the left than to the right, so unlike the face she usually put on, and it would always be enough.


End file.
